


In Which Rose Has A Drink With Her Brother On Her Birthday, Alternatively Titled 'Happy Birthday' Or 'A Drink'

by YouGottaFlipItTurnWays



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dead Parents, Hurt/Comfort, Other, sadStuck-ish, thisismyfirstpublishedfanfictionbenicetomeplease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouGottaFlipItTurnWays/pseuds/YouGottaFlipItTurnWays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It pretty much explains itself in the title. Rated Underage for their drinking (they'd be considered underage where I'm from anyway)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Rose Has A Drink With Her Brother On Her Birthday, Alternatively Titled 'Happy Birthday' Or 'A Drink'

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to this site and this is the first Homestuck fanfic I've ever written but I'd love to hear what you think about it. If there is anything wrong with the math please tell me since i wrote this at four in the morning three months ago. Also, did you know that when you click on the alternate spelling for Lalonde it gives you Alongside?

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are eight years old. Being so young, you have yet to fully master what you would later call your "composure". While reading a book that would be considered beyond the average reading capacity for someone your age, you wonder out loud what your mothers martini tastes like. She says in a slur that you've always been able to understand that when you're fifteen she'll let you have one. You nod and say okay.

~Seven Years Later~

Well will you look at that, you are still Rose Lalonde. You are two years, six months, and four days into your three year long journey through the Furthest Ring. It has been 768 days since your mother has died. It also happens to be your fifteenth birthday and you can only think of one thing you want as a present. You and Dave had talked to each other about your mother and father, or "Bro" as he's always called him, as a way to bond in a sibling like fashion. One day, you brought up that your mom had promised to make you a martini when you turned fifteen. Dave had a similar story to tell. You're not sure when or how, but you both decided to carry out that promise. That's why, as you make your way to the kitchen area of the meteor, you decapatchalogue a bottle of beer that you are going to give to your brother in place of your father. You're holding it rather tightly, as if by loosening your grip you will somehow be swallowed my the pit that was once your stomach. You are grateful that Dave agreed to wait a day for this, you don't think you could do this alone.

You don't think he could either.

As you enter the kitchen you notice Dave sitting at a small square table waiting for you with your drink. You sit down in front of him and look at his barely composed poker face. You know this is tearing him up, you just wish you could get him to talk about it. He hasn't said anything to Terezi either. You should know, you asked. you hand him the bottle, he hands you the glass, and you both sit in silence. A few minutes pass until Dave finally reaches for his beer bottle to undo the cap it. You grab the thin stem of your glass. You both lift your respective drinks and clink them together before taking a sip and setting them back down. You grimace as it burns your throat. You sit like that for some time, taking more sips now and then.

You hear Dave faintly sniff and have no doubt in your mind that he will deny making such a sound until his last breath. You also have no doubt that he needs to be comforted. You cover the hand that is not loosely holding his now room temperature, three quarter empty beer with your own and rub light circles with your thumb on the back of his hand.

He slides his drink roughly to the side, takes off his sunglasses, lays his head on the table, and starts to cry. Shaking of his shoulders and the odd sniff are the only indication that crying is what he's even doing. You're not far behind. You place your head in your hand and let everything that you've kept pent up for the last two and a half years out. You're not much of a loud crier either. Shaking, sniffing, and the odd hiccup. You feel Dave's hand shift under yours. The next thing you know is that his fingers are entwined with yours. You stare dumbly and belatedly realize that he is trying to return some of the comfort you gave him and you can't help but smile through your tears.

**Author's Note:**

> "Composure" is just another word for poker face Rose, don't deny your inner Strider.  
> I have no idea what a martini tastes like, I just know that some alcohol burns on the way down, if not all.  
> I plan to write Jade/Karkat next. I don't know how long it'll be until I think of something decent to write.


End file.
